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Martin is awoken by the mattress shifting and the sound of socked feet padding against the wooden floors of the safehouse. This isn’t unusual - Jon doesn’t really need to sleep anymore, but they like spending time with Martin even so - and he gets the distinct feeling that even before becoming an avatar of an otherworldly fear god, they were considerably more of a morning person than he is. Martin stirs, briefly considering getting out of bed to join them, but the chill seeping in from the edges of the duvet is enough to make him change his mind and curl up under the blankets for a little while longer.
—
Later, he finds Jon cross-legged on the living room floor, scribbling down notes onto various scattered sheets of paper strewn across the carpet. They visibly brighten as he enters, stifling a yawn. Martin crosses over from the doorway, bending down to tilt Jon’s head upwards and press a soft ‘good morning’ to their lips.
They blink happily as Martin pulls away, eyes shining with unfiltered joy.
“Good morning indeed.”
Martin snorts, rubbing his eyes as he settles down on the floor next to Jon. They give him an impossibly fond look, playfully bumping his shoulder with their own and beginning to pick up some of the pieces of paper.
"What are you working on?”
Jon grins and turns towards him, clutching several sheets of scribbles in their hands.
“Well, you see, you mentioned yesterday that you’d like to learn how to make bread, and so when I woke up I thought, why don’t I try and Know some recipes? But then I realised how many types of bread there were - there’s honestly an absurd amount - and I thought I’d have to write them all down just in case, to see which ones you like, and, well-”
They gesture helplessly to the mess before them, an exasperated smile on their face. Affection bubbles bright in his throat as he claims both of Jon’s hands in his own, bringing them up to his lips and kissing them - once, twice. Jon smiles and rests their head on his shoulder. Martin lets their joined hands rest on his knee, rubbing a thumb back and forth over their knuckles.
“I take it that means you’d like to try some of these later?”
Martin nods, failing to contain another yawn.
“What time is it, love?”
There’s no clock in the living room, but Jon answers anyway. Martin catches a flash of green from out of the corner of his eye.
“Quarter to 9.”
Martin groans, disentangling his hands from Jon’s to scrub them over his face.
“It feels so much earlier.”
Jon chuckles quietly and sits up.
“Come on, love. I think we could both do with some tea right about now.”
He grumbles half-heartedly in agreement, allowing Jon to drag him to the kitchen.
—
Martin sits at the kitchen table, feeling marginally more awake with a steaming mug of tea in one hand as he scans the chosen list of ingredients and furrows his brow.
“Do we have yeast, love?”
Jon pauses their rummaging through the kitchen cupboards. They concentrate, green briefly flashing behind closed eyelids, before nodding in confirmation.
“We do! Middle shelf at the back, so somewhere around here -”
Bending down, Jon re-emerges a few seconds with a triumphant grin, a battered packet clutched in their hands. Martin smiles, checking the list again and turning back towards Jon.
“We should be good to go!”
Jon rolls up their sleeves, grabbing an apron as Martin gathers the ingredients together, and they begin.
—
They work side by side, elbows brushing as Jon lines and greases the bread tin - found at the back of one of Daisy’s cupboards - and Martin kneads the dough together, working in more flour when the mixture sticks too much to his hands. The sun through the kitchen window bathes them both in pale golden light as they work in comfortable silence. Martin leaves the bread to rise under a striped dishcloth and goes to rinse the floury dough from under his fingernails. Arms snake around his waist as Jon rests their chin between his shoulder blades.
“Hello, you.”
Jon smiles and presses their forehead to the nape of his neck, humming quietly in response.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Martin turns on the tap and holds his hands under the stream of warm water, gently scrubbing at the more stubborn scraps of dough.
“This is nice. It’s good to be here with you. Making something together.”
Jon makes another soft noise of affirmation.
He scrapes the last of the dough from his fingers and turns off the water, leaning over slightly to dry his hands on the towel. Arms recede from his sides and Jon appears next to him, entwining their hands together as they stare out of the kitchen window. The clock on the wall above the door ticks. Dust motes dance mid-air, enshrined in watery sunlight. Jon’s palm is warm in his as they rest their head on Martin’s shoulder.
And, for one blissful moment, everything is perfect.
“Martin?”
“Hmm?”
“I think we forgot the salt.”
“How do you kn- oh.”
“Mhm.”
“Oh you’ve got to be joking-”
—
Salt added, crisis averted and bread safely in the oven, Martin breathes a sigh of relief as they collapse together onto the sofa. Jon’s eyes are wide and apologetic, though they soften almost imperceptibly when he smiles at them.
“Sorry, love. It was my fault, I should have literally Known sooner.”
Martin shuffles along the sofa a little more so that he can lean into the steady weight of Jon’s jumper-clad shoulder.
“Oh - it’s fine, honestly. The salt was like, right there in front of me the entire time.”
Jon twists their head to look at him. Martin blinks back innocently. There’s a beat, and then they both dissolve into helpless giggles.
“Oh, Martin, what am I going to do with you?”
He grins at the teasing in their voice and looks up at them.
“Kiss me?” Jon’s eyes brighten.
“Well, really, who am I to refuse?”
—
They’re (rather rudely, in Martin’s opinion) interrupted by the timer going off in the kitchen. Jon presses one last kiss to his forehead and rises from the sofa to go turn off the oven. Martin follows behind them, watching as Jon pulls on endearingly too-large oven mitts and opens the oven door. They retrieve the bread tin, brow wrinkled in concentration as they carry it to the cooling rack before joining him at the kitchen table. Steam billows from the crust, filling the room with warmth and the heady scent of freshly baked bread.
“That smells so good.”
Jon nods, pride evident on their face as they remove the oven mitts and lay them on the table.
“I’m glad it turned out well.”
Martin hums in agreement, taking their hand in his own.
“Thanks for going to all this effort, love.”
“It was your idea in the first place - a very good one too, might I add.”
“Well yes, I suppose.”
They sit for a minute in comfortable silence before Martin springs to his feet.
“I nearly forgot! We need to actually make something to go with the bread.”
“There’s a tin of soup in the cupboard on your left.”
Martin shoots them a grateful look, tinged with fondness.
“Honestly, what would I do without you?”
Jon beams at him - and, really, what else can Martin do but grin back?